His Third Act
by sidewinder
Summary: Bayard enjoys dinner with an unexpected friend. (A short gift-fic written for GreenPhoenix.)


"Counsellor Ellis! I hope this evening finds you well."

Bayard glanced up from the menu he'd been perusing while enjoying a glass of fine Brunello. He smiled at his just-arrived dinner partner. "Quite acceptable, my friend. And yourself?"

"Significantly improved since I escaped One Hogan Place, and the never-ending demands for documented perfection from ADA Barba." John Munch sat down across from the attorney, loosening his tie to get comfortable now that the work day was finished.

John picked up the menu before him and began to read through the evening's offerings. Bayard frowned as he thought of which cases he knew the Manhattan Sex Crimes ADA had open. There was one where he was representing the defendant, so he asked with caution, "You're not assisting Barba on the LaFleur case, are you?"

John glanced across at him over the upper rim of his glasses. "If I were, you'd be the last person I'd be having dinner with tonight."

"Fair enough," Bayard answered, satisfied. "I recommend the house-made gnocchi, by the way. Soft as pillows, in a perfect sage and brown butter sauce. Best I've tasted outside of Napoli."

"I may just take your word on it."

They might have seemed most unlikely companions: the passionate defense attorney and the former detective-now-special-investigator for the District Attorney. Yet somehow, through the course of several months, a working respect for each other's methods and beliefs had grown into an intellectually stimulating friendship.

It had begun after a public lecture by Ellis at Hudson Law School. He'd been discussing his work for Project Innocence, encouraging students and practicing attorneys alike to take up the cause and not always think about profits before compassion. He'd recognized Munch in the audience, after the man had peppered him with some incisive questions during the talk's concluding Q&A.

 _"Perhaps we should continue this conversation after the lecture,"_ Ellis had told him as the organizers of the event pressed him to wrap things up, not exactly expecting Munch to do exactly that as soon as the applause and final thank yous had died down. And yet he had, their conversation continuing from the lecture hall to a nearby bar afterwards. Their debate had been feisty, but not mean-spirited. By the end of the night Ellis had left with John's card in his pocket and, perhaps, a friend in the DA's office. That was never bad thing from Bayard's point-of-view.

After they ordered their dinner selections, John said, "There is one case which recently crossed my desk that could be of interest to you. Strictly off the record, of course."

"Of course."

"Eduardo Tapia. Accused of a double-homicide in East Harlem two months ago. It was a pretty gruesome scene."

"I think I remember hearing about it at the time."

John nodded. "I reviewed all the detectives' reports as O'Dwyer is preparing to go to the grand jury. I gave my recommendations that there seemed to be a lot of holes there: statements that didn't match, evidence that could have been tainted. I tried to obtain more information from the 25th Precinct and felt like I was getting the run-around. You'd think they'd understand I was on their side, hoping to ensure a conviction... _If_ it's warranted."

"And you're not sure it is?"

John shrugged. "Kid's only twenty-two and has a real green public defender representing him. I'm simply saying…you may want to make contact. See what your spidey-sense makes of the situation. But you didn't hear any of this from me."

"My 'spidey sense' appreciates and understands fully." This wasn't the first time Munch had steered him in the direction of a case where he felt bias and shoddy police work had potentially brought the wrong person up for trial. And no one was better than a former cop at knowing how the system worked, and the abuses that could arise from within.

Their server brought them a basket of bread and a second glass of wine for Munch. Bayard continued, "You know, John, I still find one thing about you extremely hard to understand."

"What might that be?"

"How _you_ , a card-carrying, anti-establishment, civil rights advocate and free love sixties radical—"

"You forgot unrepentant drug legalization advocate—"

"—Yes, _thank_ you, that as well—ended up working in law enforcement, where all the aforementioned are so often cast aside in unrelenting pursuit to 'get the bad guy.'"

"Ah, but that's precisely it, Bayard. You and I are, in fact, on the same side in this fight."

"What fight is that?"

"The fight for justice, of course," John explained. "You work it from your angle, poking at holes in the prosecution, looking for sloppy policing and systematic prejudices that could put an innocent man behind bars. I do the same from inside the force, and have since before I even made sergeant. I keep my fellow police officers in check, trying to make sure a case doesn't end up even crossing your desk or a big fat retainer landing in your bank account until or unless I feel it's all above the board."

"And you've never tried to bend the rules, the law, not even one bit, in your pursuit of justice. When you knew someone was guilty but couldn't prove it legally."

John cocked an eyebrow. "Have you?"

Bayard merely smiled and tore into a crusty piece of Tuscan bread.

"Have I ever told you," John said, "how much you remind me of someone I worked with back in my Baltimore days?"

"I recall you mentioning it."

"The resemblance is uncanny. As if you could be long lost brothers."

"I assume this doppelgänger of mine was a cop?"

"One of the finest I've ever known. And he knew how good he was, too. He eventually retired to teach ethics. That was _his_ second act." John got a thoughtful look before continuing, "I suppose I find myself on my third act these days—the first two for the police, now for the District Attorney."

"Well, if you're ever considering a fourth, I could always use someone like you on my team."

John chuckled and shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind for the future, but at the moment I'm perfectly content to stay where I am. And at that point I finally may be ready to retire for good."

For some reason Bayard couldn't see John Munch ever retiring fully, no matter how many times he mentioned the possibility. And he hoped that, for the sake of justice in this city, that day would never come.


End file.
